The next morning, I made pancakes.
I figured if I kept my hands busy, maybe my brain wouldn't spin so hard. If I focused on flipping each one just right—golden brown, not burnt—I could pretend I hadn't heard anything. Pretend nothing was changing.
Pretend he wasn't leaving.
Kaden came downstairs first, still yawning, and dropped into a chair at the table like he hadn't dropped a bomb on my entire world eight hours ago.
Callum followed a minute later, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair damp from a shower. He looked tired, but in that warm, slow way that made him seem more real somehow.
"Morning," I said, too brightly.
He raised an eyebrow, like he heard the extra wattage in my voice. "Hey. You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep," I lied.
"Well," he said, sitting down, "you've got perfect timing. I'd kill someone for those pancakes."
I smiled and slid a plate in front of him. "Good thing you don't have to."
Kaden grabbed the syrup like nothing was weird. Like the whole world wasn't tilting sideways.
I sat down across from them, trying not to fidget. I even laughed when Kaden told some dumb story about one of his friends failing his driver's test.
But I could feel Callum watching me.
Not in the usual way. Not the warm, quiet kind of noticing that made me feel seen.
This was sharper. A little too focused.
He waited until Kaden left the table—muttering something about needing to grab his charger—and then said, softly:
"You okay?"
I blinked. "Yeah. Of course."
He tilted his head, not buying it.
"You're smiling like it's your job."
I stabbed at my pancake with my fork. "Maybe I'm just in a good mood."
Callum leaned back in his chair, eyes still on me. Calm. Careful. "Cara."
I hated the way my chest tightened just hearing him say my name.
"I'm fine," I said again, a little too quickly. "Why wouldn't I be?"
He hesitated. Then: "You heard us talking last night."
It wasn't a question.
I looked down at my plate.
"Didn't mean to eavesdrop," I mumbled.
"I know."
"I just… I was getting water. And then I heard Kaden say something about college, and you—" I stopped myself. "Never mind. It's not a big deal."
But it was.
He reached across the table and gently touched my wrist. Just for a second. Just enough to make everything stop moving.
"I'm not disappearing tomorrow," he said quietly. "And I'm not walking out without saying goodbye. You know that, right?"
I nodded, but my throat was too tight to speak.
Because he would leave. Eventually.
And I would still be here.
But in that moment, with his hand warm against my skin and his voice soft like it was only meant for me, it didn't feel quite so unbearable.
Not yet.